It just now struck him that he felt no guilt at all over Craig Rashman’s death – and that was what really bothered him. Fenton Hardy had always taught his sons that taking a life was wrong and Frank firmly believed his father was right.

Confused and a little disconcerted at his own seeming lack of remorse, Frank stood and walked out of the room, needing to talk to the one man who could make sense of anything – his father.

As he approached the living room Frank slowed, noting the only light in the room came from the soft glow of the television. Fenton Hardy was stretched out on the couch, his head resting in his wife’s lap. Laura’s head was bowed, close to her husband’s. Unable to see exactly what was happening, Frank blushed a little and cleared his throat.

"Hi, honey," Laura smiled, looking up at him.

"Uh, hi, Mom. Sorry to bother you," Frank mumbled, feeling like a child who’d seen something he shouldn’t have.

"Something on your mind, son?" Fenton asked, sitting up.

"Actually there is," Frank replied, making no move to sit down, his eyes flitting from his mother to his father before going back to his mother again.

Laura looked from Frank to Fenton. Frank obviously wanted to talk to his father – alone.

"Never let it be said I can’t take a hint," Laura grinned. Leaning close to her husband, she whispered something Frank didn’t quite hear and then kissed him.

Standing up, she kissed her son on the cheek and, wishing him goodnight, went into the bedroom and shut the door. Silently Frank motioned to his father to follow as he walked to the sunroom on the other side of the suite. Not wanting to take a chance anyone would overhear them, Frank waited until his father was settled on the couch before he shut the door and then sat on the love seat directly across from Fenton.

"Joe asked me what happened with Rashman tonight," Frank blurted out before he lost his nerve. "He wanted to know exactly how he ended up going over the railing," he said nervously.

"Accidentally," Fenton replied, becoming uneasy at Frank’s edginess, "right?"

For one brief moment, he wondered if it wasn’t quite as accidental as Frank had originally stated.

"Yes, it was," Frank ran a hand through his dark hair. "I mean I didn’t go into it intending to kill him."

Fenton studied his son carefully, a little bewildered. He was used to Joe being evasive and beating around the bush when something was bothering him, but Frank usually got right to the point.

"It’s normal to feel a little guilty or remorseful when something like this happens, isn’t it?" Frank asked, the nervousness still clear in his voice.

"I think anybody who values human life would feel something," Fenton responded, suddenly sensing that wasn’t the right answer. "But everybody reacts differently. There’s no law that says you have to feel anything at all," he added quickly.

Immediately Frank averted his eyes, turning to stare out the window into the night. "When I got there and figured out what was going on, my intention was to subdue him, get Joe back on solid ground and call the police. Just like you taught us. Never take the law into your own hands," Frank’s voice grew quiet. "I did everything I could. I hit him with a chair… even smashed a glass table over his head. He’d just brush it off like it was nothing.

"I don’t know exactly when, but at some point I realized my plan wouldn’t work. I mean the guy was as big as a house and solid muscle. I finally had to accept there was no way I could overpower him and restrain him by myself. And Joe couldn’t hang on forever." Finally, Frank turned back to his father. "It was either him or us. I didn’t have any choice."

"Frank, you were fighting for your life – and your brother’s. It was self-defense. No one would ever think anything else," Fenton tried to reassure him but got the impression that really wasn’t what was troubling him.

"It was. Absolutely. But the thing is – I don’t feel guilty. Not at all." A flash of rage appeared in Frank’s eyes as the scenes played out in his mind. "He wanted to kill Joe, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to torment him first." The taunting voice of Craig Rashman resonated in his ears.

"I won’t apologize for what I did. If I had to do it all over again I would. After what he and his brother did to Joe…" Frank looked his father in the eyes without regret or apology. "I’m sorry if you’re disappointed in me, Dad, but that’s the only thing I’m sorry for. I can’t feel anything but relief that at least one of them is dead."

Fenton leaned forward, staring intently into the eyes that were so much like his own. "If you hadn’t shown up when you did, Joe would be dead right now. You saved your brother’s life – against the odds. How could I possibly be disappointed in you for that."

Frank slumped back against the cushions. "I didn’t really realize any of this until after the police had left. After the adrenaline rush wore off. I thought I’d feel guilty as hell, but all I felt was…relieved," Frank eyed his father, frowning in concentration. "I don’t want to let you down, Dad. Are you sure you’re okay with this? Not that I could change it if you weren’t," he added as an afterthought.

"I’m not disappointed in you, you haven’t let me down and I don’t want you to apologize for how you feel," Fenton glanced down at his hands, deciding if he should tell Frank what he was really thinking. Looking up, he stared at his first-born son.

"Truth be told, I feel the same way you do. Had Craig Rashman been captured tonight, he could have been charged and tried for attempted murder. Joe would have had to go through another trial, and for what? Whatever sentence Craig might have gotten would be redundant. He was already going to die in prison. And he’s already proven prison can’t hold him when he’s determined to get out. I don’t condone murder under any circumstances but, God forgive me, I can’t help but be glad he’s dead. At least I know he can’t come after Joe again.

"Nothing is ever black and white, Frank. No absolute right and wrong. There are always shades of gray and exceptions to every rule. This was one of the exceptions," Fenton reached out and squeezed Frank’s knee. "You’ve always made me proud. And tonight was no different. Okay?"

"Okay," Frank nodded. "I guess I was worried that by not feeling at least a twinge of guilt I’d somehow let you down."

"Not a chance," Fenton smiled.

"Thanks, Dad," Frank replied, then frowned in puzzlement. "You know, I don’t get it," he mused thoughtfully. "What did Craig Rashman think he’d accomplish by killing Joe now? I mean, aside from feeling as if he got back at you. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome of the trial…whatever that will be."

"That’s right I didn’t tell you," Fenton snapped his fingers. "Truthfully, I hadn’t intended to tell Joe, not tonight anyway… I spoke to the warden at Rikers," he continued mentioning the prison where Craig Rashman was supposed to spend the rest of his life. "Apparently, his cellmate knew all about his plans, but wasn’t about to say anything in case Rashman ended up back there. He’d be a dead man for talking."

"But since Rashman is dead now…" Frank urged.

"He wouldn’t shut up. Told the warden everything in exchange for a positive recommendation at his next parole hearing," Fenton paused to roll his eyes in disgust. "Craig didn’t realize how far along the trial had progressed. He thought Joe hadn’t testified yet. His plan was to come up here and toss Joe off the balcony, assuming everyone would think he’d committed suicide…"

"That’s crazy!" Frank yelled hotly. "Joe would never do that! Never!"

"Well, we would probably be the only ones who believed that. Face it, Frank. He has been depressed lately. This trial has taken just about everything out of him. If Rashman had been able to pull it off before Joe testified well… when you combine what appears to be suicide with a recurrence of the severe depression Joe suffered earlier this year…"

"Barning would have had no trouble twisting all that to get Rashman off," Frank spat out contemptuously.

"Or get a mistrial…a hung jury at the least."

"Joe would be dead and the Rashman brothers would be reunited," Frank shuddered at the dark possibilities that reunion conjured up.

"But you were there, thank God, so those are ‘what if’s’ we never have to worry about," Fenton smiled proudly at his eldest son. "So what did you tell him?" Fenton asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Tell who?" Frank said, puzzled.

"Joe. When he asked you what happened."